Page 2 of Her Wicked Highwayman
Women with bared breasts sat atop the laps of several men as they offered tankards of ale. Serving wenches wandered through the room with trays, handing out yet more ale. At one table, in full view of everyone, a man had a woman’s skirts up over her bottom and was...
Rafe’s face flushed at the unexpected intimate sight. Where the devil was his father and Ashton?
He wove his way through the chaotic din of rooms, seeking the familiar faces of either his father or his brother in the crowd. Finally, in the farthest corner of the room, he spotted a square table with three men speaking, their voices drowned out by the din. One of the men was his father. Letting out a sigh of relief, he decided to risk his father’s displeasure and show himself and beg him to come home. Rafe navigated his way through the room, feeling the menacing stares of the men and the wistful smiles of the wenches. One woman even grasped his arm as he walked past.
“My, my, ain’t ye quite the lad...” She batted her lashes at him and leaned forward, letting him see her bountiful bosom.
Rafe’s face flooded with heat as he pulled away from the woman. He was frightened by the way she looked at him.
The men around her sneered, and laughter broke out as one man slapped the woman’s bottom hard. She yelped, but then she started laughing too. Rafe took the opportunity to escape and moved even more quickly toward the table in the back.
When he reached his father, he stood behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Malcolm flinched and whirled, as if expecting a fight. He gaped when he saw it was Rafe.
“What the devil are you doing here?”
“I came to take you home, Father.” Rafe didn’t dare look at the other two men, but he could feel their eyes on him. He didn’t mention that Ashton was somewhere in this awful place—that might well make his father even more furious.
“I’m in the middle of something important, Rafe.Go home.” His father’s voice held a warning that terrified Rafe. His father was a strong man, and Rafe had always believed he could do anything. Now, for the first time in his life, he saw a different side to the man he had idolized.
“Go home, my boy,please.” His father grasped Rafe’s arm, giving it a hard squeeze. “Take care of your mother and sister. I will be home soon.”
Rafe wished desperately that his elder brother was there. Ashton always knew what to do, what to say. Where was he? How had he not found their father as quickly as Rafe had?
Rafe finally summoned the courage to look at the other two men at the table. One was stout but looked strong. He wore the fine coat of a gentleman, but cruelty lined his features in deep grooves. The second man was massive, a brute with a heavy, pockmarked face. He sneered at Rafe. This was the sort of man one would never dare wager against in one of those underground boxing rings he wasn’t supposed to know existed.
The gentleman eyed Rafe with frighteningly dark eyes. “Introduce us to your welp, Lennox.”
“I...” Malcom hesitated, but finally relented. “Rafe, this is Lord Caddington and his associate, Mr. Phelps.” His tone was so full of woe that Rafe immediately feared what lay between his father and this man.
Caddington swept a cold gaze over Rafe. “How old are you, boy? Ten, twelve?”
“Ten, my lord.” Rafe’s tone was steady, even though he was shaking inside. Something about this man felt terribly wrong. Rafe couldn’t read him like he could other people. He had no tells, no quirks, no slight expressions to indicate what he was thinking or feeling. The man’s eyes wereempty.
“Pretty lad, aren’t you, boy?” Caddington mused and stroked his chin. “Lennox, perhaps your boy can work off your debts by attending me in my household.”
Malcolm shot to his feet. “No!”
The bellow was so loud and unexpected, the entire room quaked with the rumble of Malcolm’s shout. A hush fell acrossthe drunken crowd until they resumed their activities like nothing had happened.
“No, Caddington,” Malcolm said more quietly, but with no less menace in his tone. “You have the necessary papers to acquire the funds I owe you, and that should be enough. My son has nothing to do with this.”
Caddington toyed with his glass of brandy as he assumed a contemplative expression.
“It may be enough for now, but you can’t avoid the tables forever, Lennox. We both know you will be back. And when you are, I will claim that boy as payment.” Caddington flashed Rafe a grin that promised dark and terrible things should he and Caddington ever meet again.
Rafe backed up a step. He wanted to leave, he wanted to turn tail and run, but he was a Lennox. He wouldn’t abandon his father to this man.
Malcolm grasped Rafe’s arm. “It’s time for you to go home, son.” They both headed for the door of the gambling den and stepped outside into the night.
“I’ll call a hackney for you,” his father muttered, refusing to look his son in the eye as he raised his hand and called a coach to come toward them. When the driver stopped before them, Malcolm paid the man and gave him the address of the Lennox townhouse.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Rafe asked his father in a quiet, scared voice.
“No, there is something I must do... I will be home by morning.” His father’s voice had an odd sound to it, and Rafe didn’t like the strange look upon his father’s face.
Rafe shuddered and glanced back at the doorway of the tavern and gambling hell. A dark shadow blocked out the light coming from the open doorway. Rafe recognized the shape of the man. It was Mr. Phelps.
“He wants the boy, Lennox,” Phelps said. “Give him to me.”
